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Zevran wasn’t sure what he was doing here, in the more run-down parts of Denerim well after sunset. The wind was blowing sharp and cold, bringing in a never-ending front of rain-swelled clouds from the Amaranthine Ocean. It whistled through his worn-out leather jacket, almost as if making fun of his efforts to stay warm. His boots, serviceable enough for Antiva’s warm rain showers, had long succumbed through the muddy Fereldan ground. Even the asphalt was full of mud here. It seeped through the cobblestones and out of every patch of grass. He had been walking for hours, never stopping for more than ten, fifteen minutes. He had eaten on the go and even sunken so low to as to accept the watered-down, sugar-spiked brew Fereldans had the nerve to call coffee. The chase was wearing him out; he could feel it in his tired legs, his damp mood, and the dryness in his eyes. But he couldn’t stop. If he did, the Crows would catch up. And if that happened, he was dead.
A flash of red and blue on the wet asphalt ripped him out of his train of thoughts, which had been going in circles for the last few hours. Instinctively, he stepped behind a tree, expecting a police car to round the corner. But the lights didn’t move. The coloration was also, now that he had time to study it, not quite like that of a police car. Or an ambulance. After a few moments of consideration, Zevran ventured closer. The lights, as it turned out, belonged to a supermarket. It was one of those shabby 24-hour stores where only the most desperate of souls could be found. Which meant it was just the place for him. It would be warm in there, and relatively dry. It might even contain something useful. Without thinking twice about it, Zevran marched towards the brightly illuminated glass door.
His boots tracked mud all over the floor. The pang of sympathy for the poor soul who would have to do the clean-up was soon forgotten. The store was small, manned by only one person at the register, one sad security camera mounted in front of the door and another at the staff exit. An easy picking. He found gauze, disinfectant, tape and a small umbrella, all of which he freed of their price tags and slipped into the various inner pockets of his jacket. Then he grabbed an energy drink and headed for the register.
The girl standing behind it, who could only be a few years younger than he was, looked like she hadn’t slept in a week and lived off of cup noodles and prayers. Which was a shame, really, because behind the eyebags and the listless movements as she scanned his drink, she had quite the handsome face with its strong features and the lovely hooked nose. Her only short-coming was that she was distinctly Fereldan in her manners, and that she wore an ill-fitting and unflattering uniform. Which was hardly her fault. The uniform however could not hide the fact that she was taller than him, nor that she had broad shoulders and long legs that were simply begging to be shown off. The bright red of her polo even served as a nice contrast to her dark skin, dark curls were gathered up in a ponytail and her dark eyes-
“Anything else?” she asked abruptly, ripping him out of his thoughts.
Zevran floundered for a moment, both from the rough interruption and from hearing her speak in a voice that was deeper than he would have expected.
“No, thank you,” he said, giving her a smile. “Apologies, it has been a long day.”
She turned back to her register and Zevran plunged his hands into his pockets. Where had he left his coins?
“You doing alright?” the girl asked.
Zevran gave her his best surprised look. “Apart from this dreadful weather you have here, you mean?”
“Sure,” the girl said, then gave a pointed look at his boots. “Caught you bad, huh?”
“Ah.” Zevran felt something in his chest twist. “Apologies for tracking mud all over the floor.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said and shrugged. “I have to clean up either way. Hey, want a doughnut?”
She pulled a crumpled plastic wrapping out from under her desk and held it out to him. The doughnuts inside were a bit squashed and definitely not the real thing. They could very well have been her food for the day. They could also, however, be laced with something.
“Do you often offer food to random strangers?” Zevran asked with a joking laugh. “Or do I really look so poor?”
“If you don’t want it, just say so,” the girl grumbled and stowed her doughnuts back under her desk. “You just looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”
She seemed genuine. And now he had no doughnut. Caution was well and good, but the sinking feeling in his stomach was far more real. Ah, braska!
“I apologize then,” Zevran said and bowed. “Yet again.”
“You do that a lot,” the girl said. “Here’s your ticket.”
He took it, counted himself lucky that she wasn’t angry, and hurried out of the store. Only when he stepped out into it did he remember how cold and wet the evening was and missed the dingy store.
-
He had just gotten his wits about him and stopped thinking about the cashier and the doughnuts when he saw them: two figures, hoods drawn, umbrellas opened, hands in their pockets, scanning the area as if they were getting paid for it. And they most likely were, or would be if they found him. Zevran stepped into the shadow of some large garbage cans and stood still. There were more, he was sure of it. There were always more. He could run and risk bumping into another one. He could kill these two, make a mess and confirm his presence in Denerim. Or he could wait until they left. They hadn’t found him yet, and if it came down to a test of patience he would bet on himself any day.
An hour later, the two Crows were still there. From time to time, a third one appeared and reported to them before disappearing around the corner again. Cars and trucks passed by. It had started to rain, a rain so fine it seeped into every crack and hole in his clothes. Zevran was cold, tired and miserable and had gambled away his time imagining increasingly creative ways to murder these two. Not that doing so would do him any good. It was, however, far better than thinking about how his hunters probably had a warm spot to return to once the hunt was over.
How had they found him anyways? Would he have to ditch his clothes and backpack yet again? Just as he was starting to worry they’d managed to get a tracking device inserted into him—which was ridiculous, he knew where every scar of his had come from and nobody needed a tracking device implanted into them to be found—the door to the store opened.
The girl at the register had finished her shift. She was heading directly for the two Crows.
Zevran quietly pulled his gun out of his jacket and hoped he had at least two bullets left. He should have counted them.
“Hey, you!” one of them, a man, shouted.
The girl hastened her step. “Fuck off!”
“Miss!” Now the other Crow, a girl in college age, hurried to catch up with the cashier girl. “Miss, one moment. We’re with the City Guard.”
“Cool,” the girl said, walking on. “I got a little girl to get back to.”
“Just a moment, please. Have you seen this man?”
The Crow brandished what Zevran supposed was a picture of himself. He aimed his gun at the male Crow, careful to stay in the shadows.
The girl had stopped and was looking at the picture.
Zevran had to remind himself to breathe.
“Never seen him.”
Zevran’s breath caught in his throat.
“We have reason to believe he is in the area, and that he is armed and dangerous,” the Crow girl insisted. “He is a prime suspect in several murders. If you’ve seen him, please contact us. For your and your family’s safety.”
Even from his hiding spot, Zevran could see her hesitating. The Crow girl could see it too.
“I haven’t seen him,” the girl insisted.
The Crow tucked the picture back into her pocket. “I see. Thank you for your time and have a safe journey home.”
The girl looked from her to her companion. Then she shrugged and continued walking through the cold Fereldan drizzle.
As soon as she was out of earshot, the male Crow spoke up. “She was lying.”
“She was,” the girl answered. “Aida and Tiago should go after her I think.”
The Crow nodded and pulled a phone out of his pocket. While he was making his call and the girl was staring in the direction in which the girl had vanished, Zevran quietly abandoned his hiding spot. Not a few moments later, four more Crows arrived. Two, Aida and Tiago, presumably, were sent after the girl. Two others were sent to check on the store and the two heads of the group turned to walk the perimeter—starting away from him. This was his chance.
Zevran shoved the gun back into his pocket and suddenly thought of the doughnuts.
Cursing quietly in the privacy of his mind, he set out after Aida and Tiago.
-
The girl from the store lived in a shack of a house behind a five-storied, government-sponsored apartment complex. The two Crows tailing her stayed in the passageway that ran through the building and offered a good view on the shack. Its wooden walls were a bit bent above its stone foundation, and the whole thing was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Only one window was illuminated, but while the girl was still looking for her keys, the door opened and a young man appeared in the doorway, carrying a little girl in his arms.
“See?” he said to the girl. “Mama’s right there.”
“Hello, lil’ one. Hey, Soris.”
The girl lifted the child into her arms. The little girl let out a few hiccup-y sobs that sounded like the aftermath of a longer cry, and then nestled against her mother’s shoulder.
“Rough day?” the young man said.
“Long day,” the girl from the store sighed. “Got held up by some people pretending to be cops on the way home. Said there was a murderer loose.”
“A what?” the young man yelled, only for the girl to shush him aggressively.
“They showed me a picture and everything,” she said, then broke out into a toothy grin. “Turns out he was my last customer.”
The young man groaned. “Maker’s Breath, cousin, come inside!”
“Most handsome supposed murderer I’ve ever seen,” the girl said, still grinning, but allowed her cousin to usher her inside.
The young man took a suspicious glance around, then firmly shut the door.
Zevran meanwhile was tempted to grin to himself in the darkness. Most handsome murderer. Now if that didn’t stroke his ego! In front of him, Aida and Tiago had started whispering.
“Should we talk to her?” Aida asked.
Tiago shook his head. “They told us to wait for them.”
“We should at least find out where the child sleeps,” Aida insisted.
Hm. That wouldn’t do at all.
Zevran aimed his gun at the back of her head.
-
He hid the bodies best he could and turned over the gravel they had been standing on to obscure any trace of blood. He would have to get rid of everything later. Preferably somewhere that wasn’t linked to the girl or her family. The nearby river would do nicely, and—ah! There was a shed just around the corner, and in it a wheelbarrow. How very convenient!
Tiago had sent the address to the other Crows via a burner phone that was now in Zevran’s gloved hand. It was truly a brick of a phone. Just how the Crows liked it. Their weapons had been equally familiar and now rested in his pockets. Zevran idly scrolled through the few text messages the phone contained. Tiago wasn’t one to talk much, it seemed. Zevran honored this by not responding to the new message that now appeared on the screen.
“On our way.”
Well. Zevran tucked the phone into a pocket and stood up. Time to look for a spot where to prepare his ambush.
He decided against one of the flats, which would have provided more cover but also left him to deal with its inhabitants. Instead, he took up position on the flat roof, right above the passageway that led to the girl’s house. There was a knee-high wall that surrounded the ledge of the roof, and behind him two broad metal ventilation shafts rose into the night sky. The Crows would have to pass by right below him to get to the girl, he had cover and something at his back. Really, the spot was good.
It had stopped raining. It was only him, the occasional car, and the comparatively small expanse of the nightly Denerim City. The wind had calmed down. Everything seemed to be holding its breath.
The Crows appeared, walking in formation: far enough to one another to give a gunman a challenge, but close enough so that they may come to one another’s aid should need arise. Zevran let them approach until they were crossing a broad, four-laned street. Nothing to hide behind. Nothing to obstruct his vision. Beautiful. He aimed at one and pulled the trigger.
One gunshot muffled by a silencer was enough to sent them running, even before their dead companion had hit the ground. Zevran picked off a second one comfortably enough, but the other two reached cover—bushes, dark round shapes in the night. The street was now empty except for the two unmoving bodies, which received one more bullet each for caution and mercy’s sake. Then Zevran settled down to wait. There was no obscured way backwards. They would split and surround the building, or make a run for it from cover to cover if they were brave. He would of course have to be faster than them and get them while they were out in the open. While he was still considering this, a small round something rolled down the pavement towards him.
Zevran pressed his face into the balustrade and squeezed his eyes shut just in time to avoid the worst of the flash grenade. Steps ran out from below. The Crows were getting away. Through the bright blue and green spots shimmering in his vision, Zevran aimed and shot. The figure, about to reach safety on the other side of the street, fell. Zevran pulled the trigger again but only got a clicking sound in return. Cursing, he pulled out Aida’s gun. His vision slowly cleared. On the street, the Crow he’d just shot turned around and raised his arm. A muffled gunshot rang out. Zevran ducked. The bullet missed his head by far too little, there was a loud bang and a sharp pain in his leg. The bullet had ricocheted off the vents. Zevran rolled to the right, peered over the ledge, aimed and fired. The Crow twitched and dropped his gun. Zevran shot him a second time, then a third. When he was making no efforts to even crawl away, he ripped his stolen supplies out of his jacket and fastened the gauze to his leg with tape. All in all, the bleeding was not bad. Far worse was the surviving Crow, and the fact that Zevran had no idea where they were. Zevran crawled as fast as he could away from the ledge of the roof, then stumbled down the stairs inside the building. Where to now: the street or the shack?
A scream, then muffled protests from a familiar voice answered the question for him.
Zevran limped as fast as he could to the nearest exit. Outside, the Crow girl was waiting for him. She, with her small Antivan frame, was keeping the girl from the store immobilized with one hand and pointing a gun at her head with the other. The girl from the store immediately recognized him; her eyes widened, in horror no doubt. Inside the house, her daughter started to cry.
“Guns down,” the Crows barked. There were leaves and branches tangled in her chin-length hair.
The girl from the store was standing perfectly still. Her eyes didn’t leave him. Over the steady rush of blood in his ears, Zevran could hear her daughter’s wails getting louder.
“I said,” the Crow screamed, jostling the girl, “guns down!”
Zevran wanted to shoot her. But the girl who had offered him a stale doughnut was staring mutely at him with eyes that had seen too many late shifts and too many tears on her daughter’s face. Slowly, Zevran crouched down and laid his gun—the gun he’d taken off Aida’s body—on the ground. Then he pulled out Tiago’s gun. And, finally, his own, empty one. He laid them next to the first and pushed them away from him, out of arm’s reach and towards the Crow.
The Crow exhaled in satisfaction and a bit of tension vanished from her shoulders. The girl from the store balled her fists. The edges of his vision were starting to grow dark. Would you look at that, he was losing more blood than he’d thought.
Zevran allowed himself one more deep breath of cool night air before he stood up.
“I suppose they don’t want me alive, no?” he said, voice wobbly from the sudden wave of dizziness and the tightness in his chest. The latter one was new.
He was scared.
“Unfortunately, no,” the Crow answered.
She pointed her gun at him.
The girl from the store screamed and threw herself to the ground. The Crow went down with her. The shot went loose. Zevran scrambled for the nearest gun as the world seemed to wobble under his feet. Another shot. The girl was on top of the Crow, pinning her down, but not for long. The Crow threw her off balance, rammed her fist into her kidneys, kicked her away from her. Zevran bit his teeth together as a new wave of dizziness threatened to bring him down. Not now. He aimed, just as the Crow was scrambling up. She looked at him, saw his gun. Her eyes widened. He pulled the trigger.
The Crow slumped down onto the pavement.
The world turned around him until he was lying there too.
-
Pain. In his side, the left.
In his head, throbbing.
In his leg as well. It felt like that time somebody had ripped through his arm with a serrated knife. Painful, that.
It smelled of old blankets and reheated cup noodles. Somewhere, a door shut quietly.
Steps were coming closer.
Zevran bolted upright and would’ve jumped off whichever surface he was lying on if someone hadn’t held him back.
“It’s okay,” they said. “It’s okay, you’re safe. They’re all dead.”
Despite the wave of nausea that rushed over him he could recognize the voice. It was the girl from the shop.
“Caught you bad, huh?” she said quietly. “Those bullets?”
Bullets? As in several? Suddenly the pain in his side made much more sense. Zevran mustered a weak chuckle that quickly deteriorated into a pained groan as the movement pulled on the injury in his side. The girl patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Good to see you’re alive,” she said. “My dad patched you up best he could, but we should probably get you to a hospital.”
Suddenly, Zevran felt cold all over.
“No hospital,” he gasped. “Please.”
“I thought you wouldn’t like the idea.” The girl sighed and something wooden scraped over the floor. A chair, perhaps? “You can argue with him about that tomorrow. For now, you’re here. Rest up. Want something to drink?”
Zevran nodded. The chair scraped against the floor once more. A moment later, she returned and helped him lift his head to drink as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You are good at this,” he croaked rather miserably. So much for his usual charm.
“Ah, well, my dad wanted me to become a nurse like him,” she answered.
Were his ears betraying him or had his frog-like voice coaxed a smile out of her? Why were his eyes still closed?
“So really, you gotta thank him,” she continued.
From what he could make out through the blurriness, she was leaning against the chair and had exchanged her glaring red polo for an oversized t-shirt under an open jacket. Her hair was loose. It looked beautiful.
“But he’ll tell you you don’t have to thank him at all because you saved my life. So… don’t thank me.” Her voice had grown soft. “Thank you.”
Zevran cleared his throat and grimaced. “I brought them here.”
“Yeah…” The girl nodded. “I wouldn’t mention that to my dad. Nor the cops.”
Panic shot through Zevran. What was he still doing here?
“My cousins and some friends are currently cleaning the mess outside up,” the girl continued. “From previous experience, I’d say they still have about a quarter of an hour until some kind of authorities show up.”
“Previous experience?” Zevran asked weakly.
“Not important now,” the girl said. “We need an alibi for you.”
She looked down on him as if sizing him up. And Zevran could do nothing but lie on what he now recognized as an old couch which someone had covered with a towel and let her look him up and down.
“I apologize for dragging you into trouble.”
“You really do apologize a lot,” the girl said. “You remind me of my husband.”
Zevran looked around the room, careful not to move his head. “Where is he?”
“Dead,” the girl answered. “How would you feel about impersonating him?”
Zevran gawked up at her. “I- alright?”
“Good. I’m Astala Tabris.” The girl took his hand and shook it. “Welcome to the Tabris- I don’t know your name.”
“Zevran,” he said quickly.
“Zevran,” the girl, Astala, repeated. “Welcome to the Tabris family.”